


Mischief Not Quite Managed.

by millygal



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, Crossover Pairings, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-10-18 09:50:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10614432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal
Summary: Where-in Neville learns he's not alone in this fight.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for lyryk's Ersatz Genremixer Meme. When this came through from lyryk I just *had* to pm her, lol. Obviously the prompts were screened when they were left on the post so I couldn't reply there and spoil the fun but as she said, "LOL! Almost custom made for you!" Too damned right, love! You know me so well :D I shan't be adding the other prompts here because at some point I want to write a few of them :D Thank you to alexisjane for the voice listen (poor woman) and jj1564 for the beta and wonderful notes. This is not a one shot, I have plans ;) There's not crack here which for me is a bit weird but, it's all serious.
> 
> Also, because it made me laugh SO hard!
> 
>  
> 
> Me: I'm writing a Neville Longbottom SPN AU! O.o LOL!  
> sw0rdy: I think that is the oddest combination of words I've ever read.  
> Me: LOL!  
> Me: It was from the genremixer lyryk posted  
> sw0rdy: Thank god for that. I was about to ask you if you'd had a stroke!  
> Me: LOL!!!
> 
> Neville - Supernatural AU/lyryk

There's an acrid musty smell in the air, permeating every dust mote and condensation ring, clinging to Neville's cloak like a baby Bowtruckle in search of a new tree.

It reminds him of Hagrid's hut just after the first Spring rains, and he can't help the tiny smile teasing up the corners of his mouth.

Despite the happy memories the scent invokes - Harry, Ron and Hermione all huddled low over Hagrid's oversized dining table, nursing bottles of Butterbeer and discussing the craziness that is their lives - it puts Neville on edge.

There's a sadness to the memories, simply because they're just that - memories.

A childhood that most people would've come out of with a decade's worth of therapy bills and a permanent stutter.

Neville, however, remembers what it was like to wield a sword so steeped in history and magic that he could feel it crackling up his arm as he decapitated a snake the length of the Night Bus.

How _do_ you go back to **normal** after that?

He tried to make it work as a Professor, but once you've helped slay the world's most powerful wizard, everything else seems dull in comparison.

After the first three years of slogging through lectures and wishing he were out there in the world, helping and fighting, Neville had decided to take matters into his own hands.

Now he's a Hunter.

Crass American term it might be, but he feels useful again. He's in the thick of it; protecting people, making sure that the Muggles aren't eaten alive or turned into raging Wendigos with a thirst for human flesh.

He's met some intriguing characters; truly desolate people who do this because they think there's nothing else left but death and glory and talons caked in their own viscera.

He's also met some absolutely amazing people.

None quite so impressive as the Winchester brothers.

Born into the life, dragged up by a man who did the best he could with what he had but still appeared to fall a little short.

Sam and Dean are what Neville wants to grow up to be, despite the fact that he's got a good few years on both the boys.

They've saved his arse so many times, not that he'd admit it to either of them.

Rummaging around in his pockets, Neville digs deep for his Muggle money and starts to count out enough for a bottle of Johnny Walker.

Fingering the fat wad of notes, Neville gestures at the bartender before flicking off two crisp twenties.

"Jesus dude, not in here! You'll get shanked if this lot see you wafting that around."

The large warm hand with interesting scars and intriguing chunks taken out of it, and long lithe fingers gently curling around Neville's open palm, squeezes once before tugging both arms below the bar. "How many times do I have to tell you, English?"

The grin that graces Neville's lips is both genuine _and_ sly. "Sammy. Long time no annoy. How the devil are you, old man?"

Sam shakes his head and huffs. "Sam, it's _Sam_. And I'm fine, and not as _old_ as you, old man. Gut anything interestin' lately, Nev?"

Neville rolls his eyes and tutts before extricating his fingers and patting the back of Sam's hand, still trying to curl protectively around his own. "Nev _ille_ , and I caught a Werewolf outside of Oregon. The pack wasn't quite all _that_ as you say, but they still gave me a run."

Sam looks at Neville with complete admiration, and not for the first time, wonders what might have been if he hadn't been born into the continental US’ most famous hunting family.

There but for the grace of a Hogwarts letter.

"You here long?"

Neville catches the longing in Sam's voice and is surprised, yet again, that this perfect specimen of a guy is interested in spending _time_ with a crotchety old wizard. "Long enough."

"I've got a room, not far, paid up for the night. We can - we could - wizarding chess? I'm still not great at it and Dean's been steadily creeping up on beating my ass."

Neville's ears and cheeks flush red. "Can't have that now, can we? Couple of swift ones here and then back to your place?"

"Sounds like a plan to me."

Neville watches Sam sip quietly on his whisky on the rocks and realises that his life is not like other people's lives.

There but for the grace of a Hogwarts letter.


End file.
